Complacent
by dysprositos
Summary: Bruce knew he couldn't stay in New York. Because other people are unpredictable.  Sometimes, explosively so.  And unpredictability is dangerous. But Tony's convincing, and he really means well, and Bruce can't really say 'no'...


Warnings: just Tony Stark's mouth, I think.

Thanks to irite for being a fantastic beta, as always. **Edited to add: **Credit for naming this one goes to irite, as well. Man, I'm such a douche for forgetting to mention that.

I do not own The Avengers.

* * *

Bruce had been reluctant to stay at Stark Tower. He'd actually been all set to return to India, had been thinking vaguely of making his way towards Tibet for a change in climate. He told Tony as much, and the billionaire had _seemed _amenable to that, had even offered to have Bruce flown across the world in his personal jet. It was a tempting offer, and Tony was pretty convincing, so Bruce didn't just slip out and go on his own.

"Tomorrow, though," Tony said, making some vague excuse involving engine maintenance and flight plans and weather patterns that Bruce _suspected _but could not prove was complete bullshit.

But Tony wasn't the kind of person you said 'no' to, especially when you're accustomed to making as few waves as possible. So Bruce had let Tony take him back to the Tower, had let the billionaire lead him on a tour through the non-damaged parts of R&D. And while Bruce found it intriguing (_overwhelming_) and agreed that it did, indeed, live up to the description of "Candy Land," he'd been nevertheless prepared to leave the following morning.

Because even just _being _in New York City, among the throngs of millions of people, was too dangerous. He knew he was dangerous, knew that being surrounded by so many people wasn't a good idea. People were unpredictable, and unpredictability was bad.

Bruce did not leave the next day, though. He'd tried, but Tony had been nowhere to be found for most of the day. And then, when Bruce _had _found him (under the desk in what Bruce assumed was his personal lab), the billionaire had become conveniently distracted and/or suddenly inattentive when Bruce brought the subject up.

And every time Bruce had attempted to broach the subject thereafter.

So for three days, Bruce wandered around the Tower, marveling at the way all of his absolute favorite things (foods, clothing, books, even his favorite kind of _soap_) magically appeared around him.

It _was _magical, really, but after three days, Bruce had (reluctantly and awkwardly) demanded (politely requested) that Tony take him to the damn airport, as promised.

"I mean, you can't just make me stay here like a...like a kept woman, with physics books and cashmere sweaters and organic green tea!"

And Tony hadn't even batted an eye at the accusation, had not even denied that was _exactly _what he'd been doing. "Oh, come on. That tea was hard to find."

Bruce had rolled his eyes, and had been all set to launch into his "I am dangerous and must be secluded" speech (that he recited to himself four or five times a day, on average), except Tony had interrupted him before he could begin with a hand on his shoulder and a quiet, "Look, I get it. Really. But I can't just let you exile yourself to some shithole corner of the world when we can manage your condition perfectly fine here."

There were several beats of stunned silence before Bruce replied, "Tony, it's not like I have a peanut allergy or something. It's not a 'condition,' it's—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever. Just, give it a shot, okay? If you think it's going to be a problem after...let's say two weeks, I'll fly you wherever you want to go. I mean, it's not like staying here is so bad, is it?"

And, well, it _wasn't _but that wasn't the point. "Look, with all these people, it's unpredictable, and I really need—"

"What you _need_ is to relax and _trust yourself_, Banner. Fuck, I trust you. So just...two weeks. Okay?"

And Tony Stark was really not the kind of person that you say no to, especially when you're accustomed to making as few waves as possible. Moreover, Tony meant well. Even if, in practice, he was manipulative and just a little bit coercive, he only wanted to help Bruce, to do the right thing, to give the awkward physicist a chance at a semi-normal life. So even though Bruce felt that he should have put his foot down, should have stayed strong, he just nodded and shrugged his reluctant acquiescence. "Fine. Two weeks."

The two weeks went by with absolutely no incidents.

Two weeks stretched into two months, which stretched into a year. A year with no incidents, not even a _hint _of an incident.

In that year, Bruce developed what he thought was a pretty good system. He avoided situations in which he was likely to become overstimulated, knew the warning signs that indicated it was time for him to extricate himself from a situation, managed his anger constructively, and did all kinds of other things that, the way he figured, pretty much insured that he would stay calm and everyone else would stay safe. And it was working.

Slowly, Bruce started to forget his "I'm dangerous and must be secluded" speech.

Soon, he never thought about it at all.

In retrospect, he saw that he'd become complacent. That he'd forgotten the crucial, indisputable truth that, no matter how good your self-control is, no matter how _predictable _and _safe _you make your environment, other people are unpredictable.

Sometimes, explosively so.

And unpredictability is dangerous.

Three or four times a week, Bruce liked to walk down to the coffee shop on the corner for a cup of decaf. He'd bring his laptop, and the change of scenery usually helped him think through whatever mental block he'd run into. All told, it was probably a three and a half minute walk from the side door of the Tower to the coffee shop. What could go wrong in three and a half minutes, really?

Later, they told him that the guy had worked for SHIELD, had been some kind of mid-level scientist involved in biohazard research. It wasn't exactly surprising, then, that he'd been able to find Bruce, had known about his 'condition.' Had sought the physicist out to serve as the central player in a disturbed and destructive plan.

Bruce had been sipping his coffee and tapping away at his statistics analysis when someone bumped into his chair, causing him to spill his drink all over his keyboard.

"_Shit_, I'm sorry," came a voice from behind him, before Bruce had even had time to consider the implications of his coffee-soaked laptop. "Geez, that's _really _not good."

Bruce pressed a button on his keyboard experimentally; it did nothing. It looked like there was a short somewhere. He felt a brief flash of irritation, but he was able to quell it pretty quickly. After all, he'd just saved his work, and anyway, it was just a laptop. Easily repaired. Or even replaced.

"It's not a big deal," he said, but the man—white, average build, middle-aged—wasn't listening, too flustered and apologetic to pay attention.

"Really," Bruce tried again, "It's okay."

"No, it's not," the man replied. "Look. I've got my checkbook in my car. Let me write you a check to cover the repairs, okay? It's the least I can do."

And really, Bruce thought that was easier than explaining that he was Tony Stark's kept woman and consequently, something as trivial as laptop repairs was nothing to worry about, so he agreed. "Sure."

"Oh, thanks. You're a great guy, really. Some people would just get so _angry _about something like this."

Bruce wondered if he'd imagined the slight emphasis on the word 'angry.'

But he had no time to carry this train of thought further before the man continued, "I'm parked in that parking garage over there; come on."

Bruce considered suggesting that the guy just walk over himself and come back with the check, but he was too friendly and awkward to go against the flow, so he closed his laptop (after trying to mop up some of the coffee), tucked it into his bag, and stood.

He followed the man into the parking garage.

It was deserted, and the man led Bruce over to a nondescript mid-size sedan. Standing next to the driver's door, he moved like he was going to unlock it. He reached into his coat, but instead of pulling out his keys, he pulled out a gun. Which he pointed loosely at Bruce.

Bruce had not been prepared for this situation at all, and so his immediate response was an intelligent, "Um."

"Look," the man said, and Bruce noticed how his hand was trembling, noticed the sweat that had broken out across his forehead. "I...I'm sorry. But I've thought about it, and...this is it. This is the only way I can do it. The only way."

This did not bode well. Bruce figured there were very few situations in which a distressed individual pointing a gun at him could end well. "The only way you can do _what_?"

"It can't be a suicide; the insurance won't pay if it is. I gotta think of my wife and kids. You get that, right?"

Bruce actually didn't. And he was starting to get an idea of where this was going. "Woah. You don't have to do this—"

"No, I do. I know who you are. What you are. What you can do. This will fix _everything_." The man raised the gun another couple of inches so that Bruce was looking straight down the barrel.

Bruce wasn't worried about dying—he knew he couldn't, at least not like this. No, he wasn't worried about his _own_ death. He _was _worried about the fact that they were currently in the middle of one of the most densely populated areas in the world. There were a lot of people nearby, and the Other Guy wasn't exactly known to discriminate in his targets when he'd been suddenly provoked. This could get...bad.

"Hey," Bruce began, knowing he had to try _something_ to mitigate this situation. "I don't know what's going on with you, but this is _not _the answer. There are people out there—innocent people—and they're going to get hurt—"

For a moment, it seemed like the man wavered, but then he shrugged and gave a small, humorless laugh. "That's fine. It'll cover up...this. All of this."

Nearly stupefied by a crushing sense of 'what the fuck,' Bruce opened his mouth to try to reason with him again, try to make him see how completely _wrong _this was, but before he could get out another word, he saw the man pull the trigger.

Bruce did not hear the gunshot, nor did he feel the wound.

He came back to himself somewhere in upstate New York, completely nude, but mercifully covered by what felt like a fleece blanket.

He sat up and quickly took in his surroundings. He was in the middle of a field, a deserted and silent road running by maybe 500 feet away. And he was not alone.

Tony was sitting nearby, lounging against a tree (at least as much as the suit let him), eating a donut. There was a neat stack of clothing next to him. "Morning, Sunshine." Tony picked up the clothes and held them out.

Bruce lifted a hand and rubbed at his forehead before reaching bemusedly for the clothes. Tony turned his back to give Bruce some privacy, and Bruce gingerly stood and dressed.

When he was decent, he asked, "How many?"

Predictably, Tony wasn't willing to go down that road. He stood and began to pace. "Look, what happened? Was totally not your fault."

"I can't stay here."

"Well, I hope not. This field sucks."

Bruce shot him a look. "I can't stay in New York. I _knew _it was too dangerous—"

"It wasn't, though."

"Tony." Bruce's disbelief was evident. He demanded again, "How many?"

Tony rolled his eyes. "How is knowing that possibly going to help anything?"

"Tony." And Tony knew that Bruce was not going to drop this, not until he knew.

"Oh for Christ's _sake_! Eight, okay? Twenty-seven injuries and eight deaths. Well, seven deaths, plus _him_. And a couple hundred thousand in property damage. Are you happy?"

Bruce sighed and closed his eyes. Clearly, he was _not _'happy.' After a few moments of silence, he said again, "I can't stay here."

But Tony was not going to let this go down without a fight. "Bullshit! Like you could have predicted that some nutjob would want to commit Suicide By Hulk! You can't blame yourself because someone else was fucking _insane_, Banner!"

"People are unpredictable!" Bruce snapped, not even taking the time to wonder _how_ Tony knew what had happened. "That's predictable! And I _knew _that! I never should have agreed to stay here—"

"But you did! Fuck, _I'm_ the one who said we could manage your condition from here, _I'm_ the one who practically forced you to stay. If you want to blame someone for those deaths, blame me! But I am sick to death of this self-loathing, guilty conscience _thing_!"

Bruce looked at Tony for several seconds in stunned silence. "...'Self-loathing, guilty conscience thing?'"

"Oh, fuck, you know what I mean. Just stop with the self-blame bullshit. _You _didn't kill those people. As far as everyone's concerned, that falls squarely on the shoulders of Mr. Worst-Suicide-Plan-Ever."

"Yeah, except I—"

Tony spoke over him, "So why don't we just head back to the Tower and see what cover story Fury's put together for this?"

"Tony, I _can't stay here_." Because despite Tony's flippancy, despite the lack of blame, despite the billionaire's evident desire to save Bruce from his own mental self-abuse, Bruce could not so easily put eight deaths behind him.

"Oh, for God's sake. Okay. You're pretty fucking smart. Find a way to deal with this shit. You have brains, I have money, let's do some research. Well, I have brains, too, not to brag or anything. Between the two of us, maybe we can figure something out."

"You think I haven't tried to 'figure something out'?"

"I think _we_ haven't tried. Just...stick around. I like having another kid to play with. Please? Two heads are better than one, right?" And Tony was so _earnest_, just wanted to help, to do the right thing.

But this wasn't the right thing. Bruce shook his head. "I don't think so, Tony. Eight people are dead because of me."

"Eight people are dead because some psycho had a really bad idea, Bruce. Come on. I mean, fuck, if nothing else, you're not going to get the opportunity for this kind of research anywhere else."

And _that_, Bruce had to concede, was a good point. An annoyingly good point. Because if there was a chance he could find a cure, or even some kind of preventative, he could not in good conscience pass up the opportunity. Still, he had to point out, "I don't know if it'll do any good. Research. It might be futile."

"Won't know 'til you try."

Bruce considered this for several long minutes. Reluctantly, he shrugged. Because Tony Stark was really not the kind of person that you say no to, even if part of you is screaming that you should. "You're right."

Tony beamed. "I always am."

So the billionaire called Pepper, and Pepper sent a car, and by that evening, Bruce and Tony were working in one of the biology labs that Tony had re-outfitted for exactly this purpose.

One night turned into two weeks, which stretched into two months, which stretched into a year. A year with no incidents, not even a _hint _of an incident. And after a year of work, their research was getting more and more productive, closer to the goal. Bruce couldn't pull himself away, not when success was nearly close enough to taste.

Slowly, he started to forget the "I'm dangerous and must be secluded" speech that he had recommitted to memory after the last 'incident.'

Soon, he never thought about it all.

...In retrospect, he saw that he'd become complacent.

Because other people are unpredictable. Sometimes, explosively so. And unpredictability, even if it's predictable, is dangerous.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

If you review, it makes me glad.  
If you don't, I'll be sad.  
I can't make you; I won't try.  
But if you don't, I'll probably cry.


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